


No One Wins

by hid4n



Series: 0 2 90 FLAT [1]
Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anonymity, Fast Cars, Gambling, Gen, Illegal Activities, M/M, Male Slash, Mutually Unrequited, Mystery Character(s), POV First Person, Street Racing, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:51:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1412209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hid4n/pseuds/hid4n
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trip is the three year champion of the underground street racing scene in his city. It's an admirable title and he's not so keen on letting it slip through his fingers.</p><p>Tags and relationships will be edited as the story progresses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. His Gaze

**Author's Note:**

> This work belongs to my series 0 2 90 FLAT, which is an illegal street racing DMMd AU. As for character personality placements, take all personalities that were present at the end of the common route in DMMd... For example, it's before Mink's good end, and he's still a stoic jerk.

I can't help but be completely and utterly aware of his eyes on me. They're a stunning shade of blue – I know because I made eye contact with him once, and that was all it took to engrave the memory of them into my mind. It's not the same kind of blue as my eyes; it's more intense, more commanding than my own. It's hard to explain, but anyone who saw my eyes and then his would agree wholeheartedly. There's something about that gaze on my back that makes my skin prickle beneath the tight leather of my outfit. It makes me want to claw at the goosebumps that are rising along my arms, my back, my thighs. I don't really like the feeling of him looking at me, but... At the same time, it's sort of exhilarating and I want to keep his gaze on me, even if I am turned away from him. I don't want him to look away – but I know he will, eventually. I'll be disappointed, I can tell already. But for now, his eyes are trained on my back, my ass, my legs, and it excites me so much.

Why is he looking at me? Is it because I just won the race? Is he envious, or perhaps filled with admiration? If its the latter, why doesn't he just come up to me? I guess I'm not the most approachable person on the outside. At nearly six foot, one inch tall, with broad shoulders and a strong jawline that brings attention to my angular facial features, it's no surprise that people aren't keen on walking up to me out of the blue.

There's also the fact that I'm the three year champion in this particular racing scene. I haven't been racing for that long... But I know my stuff. Every time I pull myself out of Welter – my gorgeous, dark navy blue race car – I can feel myself fill with the excitement of my first race; it sort of gets to my head sometimes, I think. It feels good though, so I let it happen. I let myself drown in the breathtaking experience of winning race after race, climbing high on that totem pole of respect until I'm at the top, a year and a half after I started my career in this little circuit. 

I suppose his stare isn't atypical by any means. I just won another race – nothing special to me – and my stride is long and slow away from Welter, my eyes flickering to the small crowd on the sidewalk. There are some teenage girls near the center of the front row, their hands flying to their cheeks as my gaze falls near them. I give a killer smile, flashing my pearly whites, and one of the girls starts screaming, bouncing up and down while wringing her friend's arm. 

I love my fans. Most of them are females who find me attractive – how could they not? – but there are some men that admire my ability to handle Welter at even the most stressful situations on the track. That's one issue of racing: You have to know what you're doing and you have to have enough intelligence to take things in stride and never hesitate. Hesitating leaves you open to interpretation, as well as creating a weakness that you definitely don't want. Welter and I have a mutual understanding of each other, and he admires me just as much as I admire him for his speed, aggression, and fluidity. I wouldn't be here today if it weren't for him – I know that much very well. 

The other problem with this is... well, it's illegal. It's like... gambling, I guess. It's an underground street racing group. We welcome newbies, although most kids don't stick around for too long. The police try their hardest to anticipate where we're going to be racing next – we can't stay in the same area for too long, obviously – but they haven't caught on to any patterns yet. Sometimes I wonder how they haven't been able to figure out something that is, literally, underneath their noses. It's not my job to wonder though - I can leave that up to the burly men we consider the security guards for the club. It's what they're getting paid for, after all. My job is a little better, in my opinion...

I race. I race hard, I race fast. I feel at ease with the roar of Welter's engines screaming in my ears. I'm not comfortable unless my right foot is pressed against my car's gas pedal and my hands are poised over the thick steering wheel that threatens to jerk out of my grip at any moment. That's sort of the reason I have the championship. I would never sit back and let someone take this reign away from me without a struggle. As of today, though, there's been no one that even comes close to threatening me and my status. I'm invincible.

At least... That's what I thought for a long time.


	2. My Race Car

I have another race later - it's the second one today. I'm carefully inspecting Welter for any possible damage that may have happened off the clock or even during the last race when I hadn't been paying attention. There's a low rumble from his stall when he senses my presence coming closer, and that makes me smile silently to myself.

Even without seeing Welter, I can imagine exactly what he looks like. The dark shade of his paint job, his Corvet body and the scoop hood that demands attention from anyone looking at him. He's a heavy car – low to the ground with lots of horsepower – but I manage him well on the roads. There's nothing he and I can't handle. With that thought in mind, my smile grows wider and I imagine running my fingers over Welter's wing, admiring the electric blue that is such a contrast against the rest of his body. The fantasy excites me – I want to see him.

The first thing I see when I turn the corner of the wall is the elegant, slanted headlights that Welter has. I remember that they were one of the first things I noticed about him the first time we met. They're bright; much brighter than the rest of his body. The paint of his body is a dark, dark blue – almost black. There are the most subtle curling patterns in the darkness of his paint job that resemble... wisps of hair, I would say. It sounds sort of weird, but it looks gorgeous on my race car. 

Each pattern on his paint job is completely different and unique, leaving me in awe each and every time I inspect him for damage. I've had to have small portions of his body repaired before and I always search for the best mechanic that money can possibly buy. Even then, I'm very strict and painfully blunt with what I desire – Welter better look like he did before the damage, or we'll have a very big problem on our hands. I'm usually satisfied - and so are the men who work on him after I hand over their payment.

The second thing I notice is the scoop hood that is raised ever so slightly to support Welter's significant engine. It's almost beastly, but still purrs like a kitten when he's pleased with my actions. The darkness that is beneath the edge of the scoop seems darker than night itself – I rarely do work on his interior, but I will if I don't trust anyone else with the issue that needs to be corrected. I'd rather pay someone to tell me how to do it and do it myself than have someone with no significance work on him. It's a respect thing... I know Welter appreciates it. 

The slant of his windshield is just as breathtaking as anything else on him. I usually pause when I turn the corner enough to see it – I have to take a moment to admire how handsome my car is. How gorgeous Welter can be when he's at rest. To be honest, he's even more amazing when he's in action. Unfortunately for me, I can't really see that...

As if it were a ritual, Welter lets out a small roar of welcome and continues to purr quietly as I snap out of my reverie and step closer to him, my lithe fingers reaching out slowly to stroke his rear view mirrors. They're almost black like the rest of the paint on his body – he is an abyss. Completely and utterly mysterious, and yet, one hundred percent comprehensive to me. It's crazy how he can be both things at once, but somehow, it just makes sense to describe him that way.

I roll my head over my shoulders to help stress the aching muscles in my neck, to possibly stretch them out a bit and ease the pain, but it offers no such relief as I step closer to Welter. My fingers continue along his side, my nail catching absentmindedly on the handle for his door. I smirk to myself, as if I'm thinking of an apology, but as long as there was no damage done, there's nothing to apologize for. As I'm walking along the length of Welter, I notice for the umpteenth time how elaborate and intricate his 'fur' design is. Without thinking, I hold my breath and admire it as I slowly wander to his rear.

This car... I have never been so smitten with a mechanical device before in my life. I find my eyes dragging up from his paint job to the electric blue of his aesthetically pleasing wing. My lips purse and I exhale, letting out the breath that I had been holding for those fabulously long moments of admiration. His rear windshield is less drastically slanted, with a gentle slope that dips right to his rear.

Next, his tires. I quickly skirt around the backside of Welter and squat next to his left rear tire. The thick rubber and deep treads look as they should, and I reach out to stroke the metallic rim. There's a quiet noise as my fingertip dips into a crevice and slides back out, sort of like a ringing. A sudden increase in volume of Welter's purring causes me to straighten myself out and adjust my jacket as I walk back up to the front of my car.

"Excited?" I laugh in response to his melodic revving. Welter has a high-tech program installed into his vehicle audio, and his sound quality is phenomenal, so his responses almost always leave me in awe.

"I am." He answers simply in his deep, bass voice. I grin. Of course he's excited. I can't remember a single time where he wasn't excited for a race. They're as exhilarating for him as they are for me, and it only makes sense, really. It's the only time I really drive him – I drive him occasionally outside of races, but we can't go nearly as fast as we do when we're in a competition, and that's half the fun. The corners of my mouth arch up even more as I pat the side of his body and walk around to face the front of him. I stride far enough away that I can see both of his headlights and press my thumb into my chest.

"So am I... I would tell you that we should do our best, but is that really necessary?" I chuckle to myself quietly, letting my hand drop down to my side. Out of habit, I curl my fingers and sheath them in my pockets, despite the tightness of my jeans.

"Not particularly."

The lack of emotion in his responses stopped bothering me a long time ago. At first, they were annoying – I had always understood that he was a car and not a real human being, but with such a human-like voice, it just felt off. Not to mention, I was younger back then... I got Welter when I was... Hm. I think I was eighteen or something. He was as breathtaking back then as he is now, but now I understand him so much better. Even though he doesn't have emotions engraved into his words, he still has a personality. Some racing experts will fight that, but I'm not afraid to cut them off. I know my car better than anyone else in the entire world ever could.

I give a low hum as feedback to his words and turn to the wall nearest me. There's an expanse of outer maintenance items for keeping up on the health of your car. I've invested in only the best to keep Welter looking snazzy – and in tip-top shape. My lithe fingers hover over a few small spray bottles until I decide on one and pick it up delicately. My blue eyes are careful to read the label and the fine print along the sides, making sure that it's what I wanted. Once I was confident in my choice, I wandered along the wall a bit more until I reached the specialized hand-towels that are designed to bring out the gloss in paint job without leaving so much as a minute scratch. Plucking a red one from the rack – the color looks absolutely stunning against Welter's dark blue body – I start a low whistle and walk back to my car.

A sudden chill runs through my bones and I immediately stop everything I'm doing – my lips purse and cut off the tune I had been forming, my legs freeze, and my fingers stop twirling around the soft fabric of the towel. The feeling I just felt... it's gone as soon as it had appeared. Furrowing my brow, I push my lips to the side in a thoughtful expression, a bit disturbed by what had just happened.

"Is there something wrong?" Welter's deep voice purrs against the silence of the room, and I instantly relax my facial expression. I'm being silly... someone was just walking over my grave – that's all.

"No, nothing at all," I respond as cheerfully as I can while a peculiar feeling is still gnawing at my insides. My body is still rigid, but eventually I shake myself loose of the feeling and step closer to Welter, setting the rag down on his hood. My fingers reach out to stroke the metal lovingly. "I'm just being silly, is all. You know how us drivers can get a little weird right before a big race." I force out a small chuckle, to try and convince Welter – as well as myself – that nothing is wrong.

"I see," His voice replies, not particularly confident in the answer I had given him, but he doesn't question my words. That's something that must have been programmed into him – it wasn't a trait that he adopted at any point. Perhaps it came with the mutual understanding we have developed over the years? All I know is that it never popped up all of a sudden – it was either gradual, or it was there all along. I appreciate it even now; if I tried to explain myself now, I'd just sound crazy.

Fortunately, the rest of the afternoon goes by smoothly after that. I cleaned Welter and brought out the deepest shimmer in his paint job, leaving an even more stunning car than he had been when I went into his stall. I had went in just to check up on him, but ended up doing some small maintenance on him – it wasn't that big of a deal since I had extra time on my hands. I went in with quite a few hours unaccounted for in terms of tasks, and left with just the right amount of time spent with Welter. The race was in a few hours – after sunset – but I still had some things to get done before that. I decided to walk my paths and enjoy the liveliness of the city right before the sun finally hid beneath the horizon. There were teenagers running rampant and young adults flocking to bars and clubs – it was a Friday night, after all. Troubles had a tendency to be forgotten on such evenings. 

Careful to watch the time, I finish all of my tasks and peer at the darkening sky. It was getting close to Round Up, so I'd have to make my way back to Welter's stall and make sure he was all ready for this race. There were little things that could have happened between when I last saw him and now, but I was pretty cautious when it came to my car. He was the reason I could race – if he wasn't around, I wouldn't be the same man I was today.

The thought engulfs me as I jog toward the large building that Welter is stored in. I'm a pretty conscientious driver – I take care of Welter better than I do myself, and I never let another hand touch him unless I trust them one hundred percent. Anything less and I wouldn't want their filthy hands on my precious race car. There's a certain kind of protectiveness that comes with owning a car like Welter. Not only is he expensive when it comes to currency, but he means a lot to me outside of racing. He's sort of like my companion, I guess. I never really tell him this sort of stuff, because it's kind of weird, but sometimes I revel in the comfort of his presence. It's strange how comfortable a car can make me – but he's not really just a car.. there's so much mor—

"Trip," Welter's voice breaks the concentration I had with my inner monologue. Feeling my cheeks heat just a tad with embarrassment at my thoughts, as well as the fact I had spaced out so easily right before the race, I shake my head a bit and nod in response.

"Ah, yeah.. Sorry about that." I offer, grinning with a lopsided smile.

"Do not apologize. But we must get ready. We have forty-seven minutes and twelve, eleven, ten, nine..." He starts to count down the seconds until the race and I wave my hands a bit, showing him that it's not quite necessary.

"Alright, alright, I get it; I need to get ready." 

With a playful grimace, I scoot out of his stall and find a nearby bathroom to change into my racing outfit. It's a really tight leather suit – which sounds really stupid, but it's not – and it's face is just as glossy as Welter's paint job. We compliment each other flawlessly when we arrive to the racing scene; especially so when I climb out of Welter after a successful race. Chuckling to myself silently, I pull my coat over my broad shoulders and slip my gloves on, the fabric the same dark shade as the rest of my outfit. It's quite similar to Welter's body, but not as intricate. It hugs my body so well that you don't really need the design to make it look fabulous. The human form can do that better than anything else ever could.

Giving a low hum as I stroll away from the restroom, my fingers curled awkwardly at my sides – I'm still not used to the fact that the pockets for my racing outfit are not very good at holding my hands without being painfully uncomfortable. Idly, I wonder if there will be any new kids at the race tonight. It always makes for a more interesting race if there are new faces to see. Hmph... I close my eyes and round the corner of Welter's stall, exhaling slowly. It's my best bet at calming the nerves that strike me every time before a race – it's not a matter of being unsure of the outcome... it's more of a natural reaction to doing something I absolutely love.

"Ready Welter?" I open my eyes and look at him, his headlights switching on. It's as much of an answer as anything else, and I'm at his side before the bass of his voice can confirm my thoughts.

"I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Someone walking on my grave" is a phrase used to describe a sensation of chills or shivers. You can read more about it online... just type the phrase into Google and you'll have tons of information on it.


End file.
